


Forward Momentum

by DratTheRat



Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King
Genre: Bleak, Bleak Smut, Canonical Character Death, Choking, Consensual Kink, First Time, Jericho Hill, M/M, Smut, Unromantic Sex, impending doom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DratTheRat/pseuds/DratTheRat
Summary: In which Roland knows too much about the art of lying to believe the lies he tells himself, and Cuthbert has his own ideas about sticking it to ka.





	Forward Momentum

Alain is dead, but Roland doesn’t need his touch to know tomorrow is the end. Perhaps he has a little of the touch himself - he’s always been susceptible to magic. It’s strange to face a battle now that his ka-tet is broken. At least he still has Cuthbert.

Cuthbert was Roland’s first friend, and now he’s going to be his last, but Roland has never understood him. He knows a few things: Cuthbert laughs at things that are not funny; Cuthbert shouts at Roland when he thinks that his is wrong; Cuthbert thrives on being needed. Roland tells himself he doesn’t need him anymore; he is looking forward to the journey to the Tower on his own. Cuthbert is irritating and improper. It will be a shame to lose his gun, but he’ll be well rid of his unending chatter and his indecipherable emotions. Roland tells himself he prefers silence. 

It is silent now. Cuthbert has not had much to say since they killed off one of their last friends. 

“Ka,” Roland had intoned as they stood, revolvers smoking, over the body of a man who had not, after all, been an assassin, spy, or saboteur. Not for the enemy, at any rate.

Cuthbert had given him a sour look, then laughed. He had gone on laughing as he walked away, leaving Roland to deal with the corpse. The soil on this hill is stony, and Roland had been unwilling to dull his knife trying to loosen enough earth to dig a hole. Instead, he had piled stones up over Alain’s body. Not well enough, however. Now, a rook is sitting there atop the pile, working its strong, grey-white beak between the smooth, round stones.

Roland watches the bird for a long time. At intervals, it looks at him, beady black eyes blinking. Roland does not shoo it off, even when it finds what it is looking for and ignores him for a moment, relishing the not yet rancid meat. 

The rook looks up again, but not at Roland. Cuthbert is watching, too. Roland had not noticed his approach. He has begged Cuthbert for peace and quiet many times before, but it's a rare day when he gets his wish. He isn't sure he likes it. The silence will be peaceful when he is alone, he tells himself - not empty like it is when Cuthbert materializes without warning, stares at him, and does not speak. It is like he is a ghost already. Cuthbert stands very still, and the bird decides that he is not a threat. It goes back to its meal. On opposite sides of the insufficient grave, the two gunslingers watch the rook eat pieces of their friend.

At length, the bird falls dead. Cuthbert has felled it with his slingshot. He smiles and retrieves its corpse and wanders off to whatever part of their camp he had been hiding in before. There is blood on the stones: the rook’s and Alain’s. At length, Roland smells smoke and then the scent of roasting fowl. His stomach rumbles.

After their meal, Cuthbert cleans the bird’s skull the best he can and hangs it from a thong around his neck. 

“Look out!” he cries out suddenly, then laughs. 

Below them, in the valley, the enemy has made a camp. Even though the sun has set, Roland can see the white peaks of their tents and the bright flickers of their fires. He can smell the scent of their more ample dinners. They are spectacularly outnumbered.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested it,” Cuthbert drawls behind him. He is lounging by the remnants of the fire, grinning. His dark eyes sparkle.

“We cannot know ka’s plan,” Roland tells him.

“Can’t we?” Cuthbert goes on grinning. “We’ve eaten that which ate our seer.”

Roland wonders whether he is joking. He has never appreciated this kind of humor, being more inclined to laugh at a chance slip in the mud. Of course, Cuthbert laughs at those things, too. He laughs at everything. In Gilead, Cuthbert had always been good with riddles - a quality that Roland had admired. He had not admired how he used wordplay of a similar ilk in jest. Riddling was a sacred tradition, so of course Cuthbert profaned it. “And does ka now speak to you?” 

Now Cuthbert laughs, of course. “Ka tells me nothing. But the fact that he is dead speaks volumes. Do you think his downfall took him by surprise?”

Roland turns and walks away. Alain’s death and their role in it had taken Roland by surprise. If Alain had seen it coming he had not seen fit to share.

Cuthbert trails after him. He is not trying to be quiet, now. 

There is only one good rock to sit on on this side of Alain’s grave, and Roland takes it. Cuthbert sits next to him, upon the stony ground. He draws his knees up and wraps his arms around them. No ghost yet: his elbow brushes Roland’s thigh, and, even though that part of him is mostly bone, Roland can feel his warmth. The cold nights will be even worse without another body to lie next to. A warm body, thrumming with blood and life. Roland is fairly certain he will never lack the other sort.

“I miss him dreadfully, and yet I am not keen to join him,” Cuthbert admits. Apparently his period of silent mourning is complete.

“We cannot know ka’s plan,” Roland reiterates. This time, it feels like a lie.

Cuthbert scoffs. “We can talk in circles, though.”

“You are the one who insists that we talk.”

Now Cuthbert gives him a full laugh. “I suppose we could do something else. But I do not wish to sit in silence thinking on my doom, and I do not wish to be alone. There is no need to practice for oblivion.”

“You do not believe in the Clearing at the End of the Path?”

“I believe in what I see. And I believe that things exist that I have not seen and will never see. If I reach it, and you don’t, tomorrow, I will do my best to report back.”

This line is certainly a joke, but Roland does not have that kind of sense of humor. “You miss Alain because that would have made him laugh.”

“I am not sorry that his pain has ended. He bore a burden we do not.”

“We bear the burden of his blood.”

“Aye, gunslinger, say true.”

Silence falls, but, again, Roland finds he is not glad of it. Fortunately, Cuthbert is true to his word; they will not sit in silence:

“When you carry Susan, how do you think of her?”

“I always carry Susan. I see her when I close my eyes, but not always her death.”

“What, then?”

“I see her face in ecstasy. In love.” He closes his eyes and remembers Susan leaning over him, the smoothness of her shoulder, then golden tangle of her hair, the heat of her around him, his name upon her lips.

“I love you, also, Roland,” Cuthbert says, “If you should live you need not carry me.”

That is not how it works, but Roland does not say so. Instead, he rests his large hand heavily on Cuthbert’s shoulder. Cuthbert leans his cheek on it, then turns his head, scraping his stubble across Roland’s knuckles until his lips touch Roland’s littlest finger. Roland looks down at him. Cuthbert raises his head and looks him in the eye. Then he twists his neck and brings his lips back down on Roland’s hand again. The kiss is less ambiguous this time. Roland blinks. 

For some reason, this makes Cuthbert grin. He twists his whole body around to face Roland’s side. Roland's hand slips from his shoulder, but Cuthbert catches it in both of his and kisses it again. He kisses every knuckle and then takes his first two fingers in his mouth, sliding them down his tongue toward his throat and then scraping his teeth along them as he draws them out again. Roland feels himself grow hard. He sits very still, unwilling to encourage Cuthbert’s inappropriate behavior, afraid to spook him lest he stop.

He doesn’t stop. Instead, he sits up on his knees and crawls in between Roland’s legs. He places Roland’s hand back on his neck and reaches for his face without quite touching it. He cups his hand and moves his thumb back and forth an inch away from Roland’s chin and lips. Then he drops the hand and slides it down Roland’s front until he finds the fastening of his jeans. He plainly isn’t used to tinkering with other people’s buttons, but eventually he frees Roland’s cock and leans forward to lick it and then take it in his mouth. The weight of Roland’s hand on Cuthbert’s shoulder makes it feel like he is pulling his mouth down onto his cock, even though he isn’t. But he wants to. And the thought makes him harder, and it makes him flush with shame.

Cuthbert pulls back long enough to murmur Roland’s name with reverence. Then he slides his lips around his shaft again. Unlike when he’d sucked upon his fingers, he does not use his teeth.

Roland does not groan, but his breath hitches, and suddenly it doesn’t matter that he is keeping perfectly still. He can’t deny this anymore. “Stop.”

Cuthbert pulls away and hunkers between Roland’s legs, just far enough away that his hand slips from his shoulder once again. This time Cuthbert does not catch it. “Have I gone too far at last?” He is smiling. Unrepentant. So alive.

Roland gives in. “Stand up and turn around.”

Cuthbert’s smile widens. His strong thighs push him up to his full height. Slowly, he turns around as Roland asked. 

Roland plucks at the seam of Cuthbert’s shirt, and Cuthbert takes it off. The rook skull stays, though, bouncing as it comes to rest in its new home against his skin. His body is riddled with scars, but his shoulders, like Susan’s, are smooth. Next, Roland lays his hands on both of Cuthbert’s guns. This makes Cuthbert gasp. The guns are part of him. It is almost like touching his cock. With shaking fingers, Cuthbert unfastens both the holsters, leaving the guns in Roland’s hands. Roland hunkers down behind him to set them on the ground by Cuthbert’s feet. He rises and steps up close behind him, pressing his clothed chest against Cuthbert’s naked back, his still hard, exposed cock against the dip where his ass meets his lower back. He wraps his fingers around Cuthbert’s front and easily undoes his jeans. In this position, it is just like undressing himself. He pulls the jeans down Cuthbert’s hips.

“Gods, Roland,” Cuthbert moans.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” Roland rumbles in his ear.

Cuthbert’s moan becomes a laugh. “You’ve put an end to my plan already. This is your game now.”

“How do I win?”

“You come. Shall I bend over?” He begins to, and the motion grinds his ass deliciously against Roland’s cock.

“No.” Roland stops him.

Cuthbert rights himself. Roland can hear him breathing hard. He can almost feel his heartbeat. So alive. On an impulse, he reaches under Cuthbert’s arm and rests his hand over his heart, which pounds as if it wants to leap out of his body into Roland’s hand. He extends his little finger down until it covers the hard tip of Cuthbert’s left nipple, earning him a gasp. Then he withdraws his hand and brings it back again, this time up above Cuthbert’s arm. He wraps his whole left arm across the highest part of Cuthbert’s chest and takes hold of his right shoulder. Cuthbert brings his left hand up to clutch at Roland’s forearm. At first, Roland thinks he means to pull the arm away, but, instead, he leans his head back and adjusts Roland’s arm until it presses tight against his throat - tight enough to feel him swallow, but not tight enough to make it difficult to breathe.

“You have my life. I know what I am doing. You do not need . . .”

Roland claps his right hand over Cuthbert’s mouth before he can beg the impossible again. Cuthbert swallows convulsively, quirks his hips, and moans deep in his throat. Roland drops his hand slightly, so three fingers press gently at the crease between his lips, and Cuthbert lets them in. Roland doesn’t let him take his time with them, however. As soon as they are good and wet, he pulls his fingers out and wraps his hand tightly around Cuthbert’s unfamiliar cock. As when he undid his trousers, it is almost like touching himself. He settles easily into a rhythm, roughly jerking Cuthbert’s cock while he holds his body in place with his arm around his neck and grinds his own cock against the soft skin stretched across his tailbone. All the tension of their days, years, life of horror finds a home in Cuthbert’s muscles, and Roland guesses he could make him come with only one more, firmer squeeze, either of his cock or of his neck. Or both. But then he would not see his face, and, oh, he wants that memory.

He spins Cuthbert around, intending to finish him off face to face, but Cuthbert, surprised and hampered by his trousers down around his knees, loses his balance and sits down on Roland’s rock. Before Roland can pull him back up to his feet, he digs his slender fingertips into Roland’s ass and pulls him deep into his throat. 

“Oh, fuck!” Roland cries. He bites his lip. It is not time to come.

“You can, you know,” Cuthbert offers again. His lips and tongue play around the tip of his cock.

Roland shakes his head several more times than he means to as he watches Cuthbert watching him as his cock bobs in and out between his lips. “No, face to face.” He tugs on Cuthbert’s shoulders.

Cuthbert abandons his wet cock to the desert breeze and rises, smiling sweetly. Now that he is on the upside of the hill, the height difference between them is eliminated. Slowly, giving Roland time to stop him, he gathers their two cocks together and begins to stroke them gently. Then he cocks his head a little to the right and leans his face towards Roland’s until their lips lock. As soon as he makes contact, Cuthbert takes command of the kiss, making it wet and languid. He licks along Roland’s lips, then pulls his tongue back into his own mouth, inviting Roland’s in to look for it.

And then he is pulling Roland down so that he has to brace himself on the flat slate of the rock as Cuthbert sits upon its edge. Cuthbert’s hand is still there, but now it’s holding still, and Roland is thrusting into it and down against Cuthbert’s hard cock. For a fleeting moment, a slim finger joins Roland’s tongue in Cuthbert’s mouth, and then Cuthbert is kicking off his boots and jeans and canting his hips differently, and Roland realizes he is fingering himself. He pulls back, looking down at Cuthbert, thoroughly debauched. It strikes him very suddenly how comely Cuthbert really is with his slender, lanky build and big, brown eyes. Susan certainly had thought so. The rook’s skull dangles to one side, too low to cover up his heart. Its thong rubs tantalizingly against his nipple.

“I’ve thought about it and I want you to fuck me,” Cuthbert says, working his finger into his own body. He does not look very comfortable. “You own me, and I want to have you claim my body before I lose it altogether. When I die tomorrow I’m going to die for you and not for fucking ka. Take me. Show me how you own my life.”

Roland nods dumbly. The thought of this act ought to be disgusting, but he’s not any less hard. He has claimed Cuthbert as his man in every way but this. And Cuthbert wants him to. Profane. Irreverent. Beautiful. Roland cannot recall the last time he was with a girl so pretty. Very likely, it was Susan.

“Good. Come here and let me get you wet and slippery as I can.”

Roland steps forward again, and Cuthbert keeps gesturing him closer until Roland, still mostly clothed, is straddling Cuthbert’s naked spread-legged body. 

Cuthbert leans up to take him in his mouth again, then lies back on the rock. “Now hurry.”

Roland shuffles back, and Cuthbert’s hand guides him to the entrance where his finger was before. He pushes hard and watches his thick member disappear inside.

Cuthbert moans and gasps and arches his back. “Yes.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes! I can still hurt. I’m not dead yet. Show me that I am alive. Show me that it’s yours.”

Roland is not quite sure what he means, but he can guess. Carefully, he bends one hand around Cuthbert’s throat and puts some weight down on it. Cuthbert’s breathing becomes labored. He wheezes. Roland leans all of his weight onto his other hand.

“Yes, yes. Gods, Roland. Fuck me while you do that. Come inside me.”

Roland lets his weight even out a little more again. It would be so easy to kill him just like this, and that’s what’s getting Cuthbert off. He wonders whether he has always enjoyed asphyxiation or whether it is just now, in this moment, that he wants to be handled with force, wants to be Roland’s catamite, not ka’s. With that disturbing thought in mind, he thrusts, reveling in the friction and the heat. Cuthbert gurgles a moan out of his constricted throat, and Roland bears down harder, thrusting more brutally as he cuts off his air. 

Cuthbert comes, spilling on his stomach and the thigh of Roland’s jeans. Roland doesn’t look; he’s watching Cuthbert’s reddening face, his wide, dark eyes.

Roland lets him breathe again. He removes his hand completely, leaving Cuthbert gulping deep, shuddering breaths. He adjusts his pace to match this rhythm, slowing his thrusts but making them hard and deep. Cuthbert notices. As he regains control, he intentionally increases the pace of his breaths and grins as Roland speeds his thrusts to match. He reaches out towards Roland’s face again, and this time actually does cup Roland’s chin and run his thumb over his sensitive lower lip. He arches his back and breathes faster still until he pants. Roland comes, and Cuthbert pulls him down into a kiss.

Later, fully clothed, Cuthbert lies with his warm, hard back pressed into Roland’s side - either sleeping or pretending to. As with every other aspect of his life, he had been determined that it end on his own terms. His still living heat spreads pleasantly through Roland’s veins as Roland regulates his breathing, trying to force his antsy body into sleep. As his mind drifts, he comes to a sudden appreciation of Cuthbert’s brand of wordplay. Absently, he scratches at the patch of Cuthbert’s come that hardened on left thigh of his jeans. The play on words he’s thought of isn’t funny; he wonders whether Cuthbert would laugh if he woke him up to share it: He isn’t looking forward to a journey without Cuthbert - he is looking ahead.


End file.
